


Remember Me, Love, When I'm Reborn

by Midnightminx90



Series: Ah, But I'm Singing Like a Bird 'bout It Now [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, but make it gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnightminx90/pseuds/Midnightminx90
Summary: Duran, new Warden rectruit formerly of house Aeducan, leaves the dark comfort of Orzammar for the bright lights of the surface
Relationships: Aeducan/Gorim Saelac, Male Aeducan/Gorim Saelac
Series: Ah, But I'm Singing Like a Bird 'bout It Now [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136474
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Remember Me, Love, When I'm Reborn

There is blood everywhere and Duran doesn’t know how much is his own and how much comes from the endless darkspawn, spiders and deepstalkers.  
  
He’s covered in blood and gore and ichor and cobwebs, fighting ever closer to the surface and freedom and a new life. Away from Gorim and his old life and comforts. Not that Duran will mind too much - he never asked for the life and rules and expectations of a noble’s life and it is all too easy to see the positive side to no longer being an Aeducan.   
  
If only Gorim could be here with him, by his side. They would take on the world together, were that the case.   
  
As it is, Duran struggles fighting his way forward. He knows he’s a good fighter; his father wouldn’t have made him a commander if he’d not deserved it, but for almost as long as Duran can remember, Gorim’s been by his side, and fighting alone had been reduced to training and the Proving Grounds.   
  
Time passes, and Duran doesn’t know how long it’s been, mind too occupied with things other than the passing of time.   
  
“I hope you make it, my love,” he whispers into the darkness, eyes and ears alert for the sound of movement. “Make a new life for yourself and live it well.”   
  
Duran rounds a corner, stepping out of the crude tunnels and onto the paved paths of the Deep Roads and the lights of the lava. And there, the Wardens! He’s not thought ahead to this moment, not asked himself if they’ll accept him or what he’ll do if not. Well, he knows what happens if they turn him down. He’ll die here, a warrior’s death against the Darkspawn, dying lost and forgotten and never to be returned to the Stone.   
  
\-   
  
The surface is…   
  
Something. Duran doesn’t know what to think of the brightness and the… sky, he remembers the word to be. And the large orb, which he can’t remember the word for. He remembers tales his mother told, and others Gorim told, but he never thought to commit those words to memory, seeing as he never thought he’d ever see it with his own eyes.   
  
“Never thought I’d see lyrium here,” Duran muses, staring up at the vast expanse of it.   
  
“Lyrium?” one of the wardens asks. “Do you mean the sky?”   
  
“I’ve heard of the sky,” he replies. “Just never imagined it to be lyrium.”   
  
“What?” The same one asks again, and Duran keeps his eyes on the sky to keep from rolling them in annoyance.   
  
“The colour. It’s lyrium.”   
  
“Oh, you mean blue! Yeah, I guess it’s similar.”   
  
“Blue?” This time Duran looks at the woman, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Is that a surfacer thing, or a human thing?”   
  
Duncan laughs, and Duran startles at the sound.   
  
No one in his family really laughs. His old family, that is. Trian was always so serious, Bhelen too busy with his women. Endrin would, at times, but so very rarely after the death of his wife. And when it comes to his mother, Duran barely remembers her at all.   
Duran himself only laughed when around Gorim, although his lover would often laugh when not around Duran’s brothers.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Duncan says, laughter still coating his voice. “It did not occur to me that you would not have the name of the colour like us, what was it, surfacers, do. Weird how we take such things for granted. I wonder, do you have a name for the colour green?” The senior Warden points at some tall brown things that stick up out of the ground.   
  
Duran furrows his brow again, trying to remember the name of the things. He thinks it’s got something to do with ‘t’.   
  
“The emerald and malachite?”   
  
“Yes. You’ll discover much yet during our journey to Ostagar, I’m sure. Those are trees, you might have heard of them?”   
  
Duran nods, the memory of his mother telling stories of the Dalish wandering the woods.   
  
“The Dalish are fond of those,” he remarks, earning another burst of laughter from Duncan and the other Wardens. That will be hard to get used to. “My mother used to tell me stories of life on the surface, books that would be smuggled in with trades directly to the palace. She wanted us to learn about it, but my… Trian and Bhelen weren’t interested.”   
  
Ever since his mother had died and been returned to the Stone, Duran’s never let anyone see his tears for her loss, not even Gorim. Now he can’t keep them back.   
  
Duran coughs and looks ahead, not wanting to see their pity.   
  
“I guess we should get started. Don’t know if you’ve noticed but my legs aren’t as long as yours, and while I have the stamina to walk for hours, I’ve heard stories you can’t see in the dark, and I’ve fought alone for hours trying to find you. Then as we’re walking, maybe someone could tell me how the daytime and nighttime works up here.”   
  
“I could never live below the surface,” one of the other Wardens says as they begin their trek. “No offense.”   
  
“Until now I never thought I’d be able to live on the surface, yet here we are. And none taken.”   
  
\---   
  
They’re seated at the bonfire, three of the Wardens asleep, leaving Duncan and Duran with the first watch.   
  
The darkness is welcoming, even with the large orb - the sun - having set not too long after they left Orzammar. It’s comforting and familiar, but Duran isn’t used to the cold, and he’s left missing the warmth of the lava keeping Orzammar heated at all times.   
  
He likes the silence, listening to the fire crackle and the gentle snores of the sleeping members of their small group. Duncan seems like a man who likes to talk but knows when to stay silent, which is something Duran appreciates.   
  
“I heard your second was allowed to leave for the surface,” the senior Warden says, and the spell is broken.   
  
“Don’t,” Duran replies, and knows he must have the hard look in his eyes that so often appeared in Trian’s. “Please don’t. I’m not...”   
  
“My apologies.”   
  
“You can go to sleep if you want,” Duran says. “I’m not really tired and unlike you I can actually see it if anything approaches. Would hear it too if not for their snoring.”   
  
Duncan nods, then enters his tent, leaving Duran to the last part of the watch.   
  
He waits until he hears Duncan’s breathing even out, then grips the braid at the back of his beard that Gorim made after their lovemaking the night before. It seems so long ago, and yet it has not been a full day.   
  
“I love you,” he whispers. “You should be here with me, discovering these new colours and words together. I wonder what you think of all this? Of the sun and the blues and greens and the light that blinds eyes like ours. Are you safe out there, on your own or have you found some merchants to travel with who will teach you of this new world?”   
  
Duran bows his head, clutching the braid harder.   
  
“Do you still love me, even now that I have no money or title or family? Will you come with me if I survive this and we meet again?”   
  
The darkness offers no answers, and neither does he expect it to.   
  
An hour passes, new sounds of animals Duran’s never heard about before filling the air, until at last he wakes two of the Wardens for the next watch.   
  
Sleep is elusive, even after all the fighting and walking, and when Duran finally falls asleep, his dreams are filled with blood on his hands and a lingering kiss that tastes like salt. 


End file.
